


Morning Glory

by deadthing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2131131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadthing/pseuds/deadthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose was too hazy to even chastise herself for noticing the soft curve of the woman's breasts under her thin silk robe, before her expressly exotic features; the horns, the pointed ears, the slate-grey color of her skin. Before Rose could think on this anymore, the woman stopped, several feet away. Rose should have felt embarrassed of her own indecency, but she was not currently in possession of her full mental faculties. Rather, she could only focus on the draping silk over this mysterious apparition's unmistakably female anatomy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This is my closest attempt at writing around a trope that is featured in a great deal of popular (Homestuck) fanfiction, but seldom applied to a lesbian pairing which is a deep shame. After reading Battlefield Terra, Unwanted Free Ugly Troll, and a few other similarly designed "lost/injured troll taken in by curious human" fics, I wished to not only experiment with writing this trope in the opposite gender, but with a species roll-reversal. The likeliest candidates were my darling Rose and Kanaya. As a disclaimer, I should add that my style doesn't quite lend itself to ease of writing these two (my skill and wit at exploitive dialogue a bit crude) but I adore the two of them both together and separately, and I had to try my hand at a rosemary-centric project at least once!

Rose came to in a sputtering heave of bubbles and fluid, twitched jerkingly upright, and was possessed, in all of an instant, by the sole, coursing thought: 'it's warm'. 'It's wet' came after, because although the vat of gelatinous pulp was of a molten consistency, she found herself alive and breathing prior to emerging from the soup. It wasn't liquid.  
Then came the deep, rattling coughs, echoing loudly in the tightly enclosed compartment, as she spat up noxious phlegm, attempting to clear her lungs and airways of the disdainful goo. Where am I.  
Rose became aware that the force of her hacking had caused the enclosure to swing as though it were attached above by some thick tether. The swill sloshed about her bare thighs. She had been undressed, and by the feel of the unadorned flesh of her earlobe between her fingers, it was revealed she had been undressed quite thoroughly. Her dismantler had taken care not to let tarnish the little silver studs, nor the slender chain that bore her initials. Or perhaps stolen her jewelry, her dignity, perhaps her virtue, and sealed her in a slimy chrysalis.

Rose took note of the sizable exit hole and the cool moonlight pouring in. She shook her head and both ears popped. She could now hear someone humming. It was a low but soft, and very sweet female voice. Rose could smell something cooking, richly aromatic and spicy, and the thought glazed her mind that perhaps the next ingredient into the pot would be naked teenage girl, marinated in slop. She dismissed this thought, though she wasn't entirely sure why. It was a logical conclusion to draw- she had woken up nude, bathed in fluid and moonlight, in a strange place to a voice she could not recognize. But the voice was fae-like, melody gentle, and Rose was, she would admit, more than a tad out of sorts. She had a difficult time remembering anything from before she had woken up. It was as though she had been drugged- likely even, and she felt so calm and at ease, it was almost tempting to sink back into the warm gel and close her eyes. Almost. Rose cautiously placed her hands over the lip of the hole, and poked her head through it. The shift in her weight caused the capsule to swing backwards a bit and collide with the wall, producing a small thump. The humming voice quieted and Rose heard soft, padding footsteps.  
She had freed her shoulders from the pod when the silhouette of a young woman appeared in the doorframe. She was of towering stature, and as she stepped into the room, the first golden rays of Aurora's light illuminated her features. Despite her height, the softness of her face betrayed youth, and Rose's best guess placed the girl within a close range of her own age. The girl, however, was not only curvier, with the muscles of a dancer or gymnast, but sported a tall pair of saffron horns emerging from her short, tousled hair. Rose was too hazy to even chastise herself for noticing the soft curve of the woman's breasts under her thin silk robe, before her expressly exotic features; the horns, the pointed ears, the slate-grey color of her skin. Before Rose could think on this anymore, the woman stopped, several feet away. Rose should have felt embarrassed of her own indecency, but she was not currently in possession of her full mental faculties. Rather, she could only focus on the draping silk over this mysterious apparition's unmistakably female anatomy.   
"May I offer you assistance?" The gentle voice asked.  
"How can I object," Rose replied dreamily.   
And then the gray hands with their neat lacquered nails were wrapped around Rose just under her armpits, mere inches away from her small, bare breasts. Rose felt a small jolt at this notion. And another at the realization that this person was stronger than she looked. In one fluid motion, Rose, petite in form, was lifted right out through the hole and onto the young woman, who took a step backward with one foot to support the weight of Rose's body limply falling into hers. A soft 'oof' escaped the woman's lips, breathed into Rose's hair.  
Rose steadied herself and took a step back, brushing against the chitin of the hanging cocoon. Both women opened their mouths to speak. Rose allowed the other.  
"My name is Kanaya. I have no intention of doing any harm unto you."  
"My name is Rose. I wish not to impede on your privacy any longer. If you would do me the service of returning my-"  
"No!" The woman's eyes widened. "I mean of course I owe to you the return of your wearable possessions, but you were uncovered under dubious circumstances, I fear your safe return would be, concurrently, unfeasible."   
Rose blinked. "Was I abducted?" She calmly questioned.  
"You were rescued."  
"From whence?"  
Kanaya shifted uncomfortably. "Of greater concern to you should be your health. You're white as snow. Perhaps I should show you to a mirror?" Rose obliged. She would press Kanaya for answers at leisure; she was less eager to leave than she had made known.  
Rose was led into a small, glass-roofed, bathroom-type space, adorned in sanded corners with potted plants, hanging plants on hooks, and a floor-length mirror ensconced within an ornately carved frame. Rose's visage appeared no more pale than was, to her, diagnostic.   
"If you will, the ablution trap is just beyond that curtain," Kanaya gestured. "The sopor slime will dry in your hair if you wait much longer." Rose turned to face a shelf of multicolored concoctions, many bottled and stopped, some in bowls wrapped in cellophane. "For your hair," Kanaya said softly. "And, um, those over there are for your skin. Use this one first. You won't be needing that green one over there. Nor any those to the left of it." Kanaya had a habit of scratching her neck and rubbing her color bones, Rose noted.

Kanaya edged out of the room and Rose leaned over to run the tap. The water started hot like the air and the scent of product in the drain began to rise. Rose stepped under the spray and glanced around at the serums and poultices lining the walls on shelves and the floor. She popped the stopper off a light pink something which flooded her nose with lavender and desert flower. A faint strain of lyric permeated the bathroom door. Kanaya was singing. Rose washed herself as quietly as she could manage, so as to ease listening to the alto in the other room. When she finished, she pulled the curtain to reveal one hanging towel, very clearly Kanaya's own. Rose made a strategic decision in wrapping the towel around herself. 

"Rose!" Kanaya called from what could only be the kitchen, and Rose followed a distinctly exotic scent to the room of its source, where the chef was bent over, tending to a mortar and pestle. The ceiling in this room was tented, with a vent at the center leading out smoke from the cooking as well as the incense that burned in all four corners. A stained glass piece served as a doorway to a balcony overlooking a vast expanse of painted desert, and filtered in light so as to dapple the space in rich and pleasant color. "Have a seat anywhere you please." A polished glass table bathed in the light of the ascending sun, topped with canisters of tea and labeled glass bottles in some runic scrawl. Rose pulled out a wrought iron chair, sculpted in an intricate pattern of vines. 

"A patron of such an extravagant botanical collection that you are," Rose began, "I am flattered, though, I should admit, unsurprised, you should introduce a rose to your garden of Eden."   
"I've never met a woman named Rose." Kanaya was bringing a delicate ceramic tea set to the table on a matching tray.  
"An Azalea, a Zinnia, never a Rose."  
Rose observed Kanaya carefully as she sipped her tea. Cloves of parsley, sage, and thyme were laid out on a maple cutting board on the counter behind her. "Where am I?" Rose asked at last.  
"The eighty-fourth landmass district of Alternia under Her Imperial Condescension. Bodies of water are given official names, whereas land masses are known parochially. I mean, I suppose your planet of residence operates on a system that names and classifies all inhabitable ecosystems, as many of my empire's colonies do."  
"Shh."  
"Uh, what?"  
"You tend to ramble. You implied I'm not on my planet of residence?"  
"Hardly!" A cooking timer sounded. Kanaya pushed out her chair. "Pardon me."

The dish she brought out looked like a pastry, but was rich and savory, filled with gamy meat and served with spiced dip. Rose bit in, and to her surprise, there was a bluish tint to the food. "What's this?"  
"Spleenfowl. Do you like it?" Rose nodded. She didn't push for further explanation. Kanaya nibbled at her food tentatively, eyeing Rose, coiling and pulling at the black tendrils of hair that curled about her ashen face. Rose finished her plate and adjusted the towel she still bore around her midsection.  
"Rose, your clothes are still hanging to dry. Would it trouble you terribly if I were to lend you something of my own?"  
"I shouldn't think it would," came her reply.

Rose had expected to be led back to the room with the swinging cacoon and wide windows, but instead, she entered an adjoining space, separated from the former by a hanging partition of heavy drapery. This place housed a second sewing table- Rose had noted a first in the other room. It contained as well, a full closet and dressing room space, racks draped in clothing and jewelry, and fluffy white fur rugs.  
"I was perhaps your size about a sweep ago. Dear, please take this not as to offend, but I must state that you are quite delicate and frail. Are you about seven sweeps of age?"  
"I beg your pardon."  
"How old are you?"  
"Seventeen."  
Kanaya's eyes widened.  
"As for yourself?" Rose asked.  
"Eight sweeps old."   
Rose caught on. "How do you measure time?"  
"In hours, minutes, and seconds. Each nests in neat intervals of sixty counts."  
"As is only right," Rose concurred. "And how many hours are in a sweep?"  
Kanaya whispered to herself and counted on ten long, slender fingers. "Almost nineteen-thousand, I suppose."  
"Do you have some paper and a pencil?"  
Kanaya produced a scrap of pattern paper and a green felt-tipped pen from the sewing table. Rose scribbled her own calculations as Kanaya politely absconded to one of the several hanger racks to collect dressings. "We're the same age," Rose announced, as Kanaya returned with several pieces draped over one arm. "One sweep is roughly a bit over two years." Kanaya hummed understanding.  
"This ensemble fit me when I was about six," Kanaya added, gesturing for Rose to remove the towel. Kanaya had not provided Rose with underwear, and Rose presumed it rude to ask. It was a gray cotton tee shirt, fitted lovingly with two sets of darts, a floor-length, lime-green, embroidered summer dress, and a slender pink sash to tie it in around the waist.

Rose handed Kanaya the towel she had been wrapped in, not failing to miss the quick flicker of Kanaya's eyelids over the delicate skin left exposed.  
"Will you fasten the back for me," Rose stated rather than asked. There was only one clasp to fasten. Kanaya helped Rose gingerly into the dress, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than need be. She hovered briefly over the tie of the sash after it had been fitted, fixed the straps of the dress so as not to pull on the shirt underneath. She paused at the clasp, breath very still on the base of Rose's neck.  
"Go on," fell from Rose's lips as hardly more than a whisper. Kanaya leaned in and pressed her lips into Rose's neck.


End file.
